For it was not that she meant to be unkind or selfish; not that she was wanting in real affection; but that she did not think, did not put others' happiness before her own, did not live for those around. There was any amount of real love and tenderness below the surface, but love of self had had the upper hand. And when she resented what they felt, she quite forgot how very little she had yet shown of what this trouble meant to her. The first impulse with Magda, as with many girls who pride themselves on their reserve, was to hide what she felt, and to put on an appearance of indifference.
This was only the beginning of a long stretch of anxiety. The doctor's fear proved correct. It was scarlet fever of a pronounced type; and the illness was greatly aggravated by the blow on the head, which had caused slight concussion. Day by day reports grew worse; and delirium was incessant.
The patient had been removed to a part of the house entirely separated from the rest, with a staircase of its own, and an outer door; so the segregation could be complete. There was at first some talk of the family going elsewhere for a time. But this was decided against. They had all been with Merryl; and any one among them might already have caught the complaint. So they remained where they were, all possible precautions being taken. Nothing could induce Mrs. Royston to remain away from the sick-room. A second nurse was a necessity, the case being so severe; so she and the nurse and child lived a separate existence from the household.
Complete isolation from friends and neighbours was involved for the whole party. It was a new experience for Magda. Everybody was most kind; notes and enquiries, supplies of beef-tea and jelly for the little invalid, arrived in profusion. But naturally and rightly, other people had to avoid infection for themselves and their children.
No going to church; no entering of shops; no seeing of friends; no engagements. The doctor of course came daily; before long twice and even three times in the day; but only Mr. Royston or Pen spoke with him; and though the Vicar called often, he and Magda did not happen to meet.
Patricia sent a little conventional note of sympathy, prettily expressed, and making it very clear that she intended to hold aloof as long as possible. Magda was requested not even to write to her, for fear of infection being conveyed through the post. Magda did think Patricia might have said less about the need for care on her own account, and more about her friend's trouble. It was the first real touch of disillusionment.
On the same day a letter arrived from Bee, so tender, so loving, so full of sympathy, that Magda could not but mark the contrast. Bee seemed to think of nothing, to remember nothing, except that Magda was in sorrow, and that she longed to comfort her. Magda could not but think of Miss Mordaunt's words—"Bee is a friend worth having, and worth keeping."
How little she had thought of late about kind Miss Mordaunt!—And still less of her own aims and aspirations, her desire to live a brave and useful life!
She quite longed to speak out, to tell her mother about the Majors, to confess her own folly in keeping silence. But Mrs. Royston was in the sick-room, out of reach. She had to wait; and meantime nothing could be thought of except that long life-and-death struggle going on upstairs in the distant end-room.
Then came a day when a few hours would decide the probable issue; when Merryl lay, powerless, feeble, unconscious, just breathing, and on the very borderland of the next world—when, hour by hour, they all knew that any moment might see the end. And of all in the house, none grieved more bitterly than Magda. For she knew, she could not help knowing, that her consenting to take the note might have made just all the difference. The great danger was that Merryl would sink from exhaustion. And but for the added complications, resulting from over-exertion and the fall from her bicycle, there could be no doubt that her rallying-power would have been greater.